


Hazumi

by deepestbluest



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Family, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27338515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepestbluest/pseuds/deepestbluest
Summary: “Don't make a scene,” Madara warns. “I'm going to make you an offer, but if you make a fuss, I’ll table it and go help Izuna.”
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 12
Kudos: 82





	Hazumi

**Author's Note:**

> Hazumi: (n) in bonsai, an expression of good conditions for a tree; used when a bonsai tree, its trunk, and branches are in good shape ([x](https://bonsai.shikoku-np.co.jp/en/word/2009/02/post-9.html))

Hashirama only wanted one thing. It isn't an unusual request; other families manage it. It shouldn't be this difficult, but somehow, despite the peace he brokered between their families, the grass behind Hashirama and Madara's home is in chaos.

“This is a disaster,” Madara observes from his spot next to Hashirama. He's been watching the carnage with a look of mild interest. “I think Izuna might actually pull your brother’s ears off.”

“Please don't sound so excited,” Hashirama pleads. He hears the unspoken _Can you blame him when Tobirama is so annoying?_ and lets it be.

“Excited? I'm disgusted. Izuna is my little brother. I shouldn't have to see him doing something so gross. He's going to ruin his kimono, and we spent so long finding one he liked.”

Hashirama groans and gives into the temptation to rub his hands over his face. “I just wanted a family photo.”

Madara snorts. “An ask too big for us and you know it.”

He says that but catches Hashirama’s hand and twines their fingers together a moment later.

“Is Tsunade really carrying that boy?” he asks. “She must be yours if that's how she flirts.”

Hashirama shakes off his disappointment and joins Madara in watching Tsunade carry Dan around the yard with her arms around his waist.

“Dan seems to be enjoying himself,” Hashirama points out.

“That's more of an attack on his character than a defense of your daughter. You do understand that, don't you?”

Hashirama squeezes Madara's hand. “I got my man in the end, didn't I?”

Face turning red, Madara mumbles something under his breath that sounds a lot like a complaint about Hashirama taking his sweet time with it.

He isn't wrong. It did take Hashirama years to realize he wanted more than friendship from Madara. Years of interrupting Madara in the middle of the night just to get some attention, of resenting the people Madara spent time with, of thinking it was weird that he kept thinking about kissing his friend. Then years of heartache at seeing Madara living alone while Hashirama’s marriage to Mito grew more strained. Years of doting on his children while feeling like he was cheating because he couldn't stop thinking about Madara.

It was Tobirama who broke the cycle of wanting Madara, avoiding Mito to feel less guilty, drinking because he was lonely, then getting caught up in wanting Madara that Hashirama had begun.

“You need to divorce Mito,” he'd said in the middle of dinner one night. Tobirama swore off marriage when they were children and hasn't shown any signs of going back on that decision, and despite Hashirama's occasional nudges about Tobirama's apartment looking lonely, Hashirama hopes that doesn't change. If Tobirama ever gets married, he won't be around as much. Hashirama would miss him.

Tobirama had given Hashirama a flat look. “You're unhappy, she's unhappy, and Madara’s unhappy.”

Hashirama had tried to duck the topic, but Tobirama is nothing if not stubborn. He'd sat at Hashirama's table, drank Hashirama's good sake, and dragged up every poor choice Hashirama had made over the course of years.

It's been nearly five years since Hashirama and Mito divorced, and both of them are happier now. Their children are happier now. Madara is happier now.

Mito dating a woman in her hometown, and Hashirama and Madara’s second wedding anniversary is next week.

This was supposed to be Madara’s anniversary gift to him.

“At least Nawaki is asleep,” Madara points out.

Tsunade’s little brother is twelve and, by virtue of still being small enough to squeeze into places adults can’t reach, the only person who can evade Tobirama.

Tobirama himself is currently up a tree, tempting fate by standing on a branch while shouting at Izuna. He's holding his kimono up with one hand, and Hashirama feels a rush of fear as he tries to remember how traditionally Tobirama dresses. The last thing anyone needs is to find out Tobirama is the one brother who commits to wearing a fundoshi.

He puts the thought away as Izuna waves Tobirama’s fur jacket in one hand. There's a bottle of what can only be Kawarama’s favorite hot sauce in the other.

“Itama texted me earlier,” Hashirama tells Madara. "He and Kawarama stopped on the way and picked up the rest of your siblings."

“And beer, I'm sure,” Madara says flatly.

Hashirama leans into him, warmed by Madara’s disgruntlement. “How far away are they?”

Madara leans into him in return. “Ten minutes. Probably closer to half an hour since there are two Senjus in the vehicle.”

Hashirama whines at him, knowing from experience that Madara will give into the urge to make nice with him.

“Don't make a scene,” Madara warns, pulling Hashirama down and breaking their routine. His lips brush Hashirama's ear. “I'm going to make you an offer, but if you make a fuss, I’ll table it and go help Izuna.”

Intrigued, Hashirama nods. “I'm listening.”

“We have time to kill, don't we?”

Hashirama nods again.

“Everyone seems preoccupied in… low-risk activities.”

Izuna yelps as Tobirama lobs a shoe at him.

“Everyone but Tsunade,” Hashirama agrees.

“Other than Tsunade," Madara agrees, "and she's only in danger of breaking her crush’s neck.”

“That's a pretty big danger.”

“Only to her love life.”

“Dan’s parents might disagree.”

“But not Dan himself. The point I'm trying to make,” Madara says, raising his voice to speak over Hashirama, “is that no one will miss us if we disappear for a few minutes.”

“Why would we disa- Oh.”

Hashirama can't see the look on Madara’s face, but he knows it's murderous.

“Now?” Hashirama asks, voice rising. They've been stressed all week; he even had to ask Madara to find him a new kimono because his disappeared. Madara hadn't let him see it ahead of time and insisted on Hashirama wearing hakama and a haori. No one else is, but he was adamant about it- so adamant that Hashirama had wound up letting Madara dress him this morning. “Right now?”

“You're getting loud.” Madara's voice is louder than Hashirama's. “But yes.”

“Is it the clothes?” Hashirama asks, too curious not to. “You've seen me wear a kimono before and you didn't get like this. Why are you so interested this time?”

Madara narrows his eyes. “Are we going to discuss _why_ I want you to fuck me or are we actually going to have sex?”

Nawaki shouts something incomprehensible, Mito shouts for Tōka to come quickly, and Hashirama tows Madara away.

They all wore kimonos today, and Hashirama would be lying if he said he hasn't been enjoying the sight of Madara in something new. 

Madara’s dark hair is stark against his blue kimono, and the white obi has been calling to Hashirama since Madara came down an hour ago and met him on the engawa. 

“Itama hasn't stopped driving,” Madara says as he skips up the stairs ahead of Hashirama, “so don't mess around.”

“Isn't messing around exactly what we're trying to do?”

Madara grumbles, and a moment later, Hashirama trips. He's only saved from faceplanting by Madara hauling him forward.

“Madara!” Hashirama complains, scrambling to right himself. “I could have gotten hurt.”

“You would have deserved it for that joke.”

Hashirama his cheek to keep from laughing. The more turned on Madara gets, the testier he acts.

“If it isn't the kimono, what is it?” Hashirama asks, still curious.

Madara drops his hand and, after a quick twist of the door handle, shoves him into their bedroom.

“Why are you so annoying?”

He doesn't let Hashirama answer, but Hashirama doesn't mind.

He doesn't mind Madara kicking the door shut either.

Madara tries to push him into the door; Hashirama braces his knees and Madara's back against the door instead.

One thing he loves about Madara is how fast he works. One hand tugs Hashirama down by the collar of his kimono, and by the time Madara has him caught in a rough kiss, the other has pushed Hashirama’s haori off his shoulders.

Undressing Madara is more difficult, but it gets easier when Hashirama gives up on trying to untie the obi and just shoves it down. 

“If that ripped, you're the one getting in trouble,” Madara warns him.

It might have been effective if he hadn't kissed Hashirama between each word.

“How long do you think we have?”

“Why are you talking?” Madara grouses. “Hurry up and take my clothes off.”

When Hashirama wasn't paying attention, Madara untied the sides of the hakama and hiked up Hashirama's kimono with one hand.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hashirama says, hurrying to catch up. His own kimono is only in place by virtue of his body being busy with Madara’s. “It's hard to think.”

Madara makes a doubtful sound but kisses him again.

Hashirama can't fight a small sound of triumph as he finally pushes Madara’s kimono off.

Something cool and hard bumps his hip as he crowds Madara against the door.

“Is that-”

“Lube? Yes, Hashirama. Well deduced.”

Madara kisses him through Hashirama’s accusation of pre-planning.

“Are you actually bothered?” Madara pants. He pauses in the middle of tugging Hashirama’s boxers down. “Do you really want me to stop?”

Hashirama shakes his head, and Madara pushes his boxers down.

“Then stop whining.”

Hashirama doesn't point out that if Madara wants him to stop doing something, he should stop rewarding Hashirama for doing it. Madara is smart; he knows that Hashirama picked up on how easy it is to get him going when he's a little annoyed.

It’s already easy, but riling Madara up makes it more fun for Hashirama when he pushes Madara against the wall and pins him there.

He palms Madara through his boxers, slowing down just to enjoy the way Madara arches into him.

“We don't have time for this,” Madara pants, face red. “They're called _quickies_ for a reason.”

Hashirama hums but makes Madara wait a little longer like this before Hashirama pulls his boxers down.

Madara’s impatience is nearly physical as he shoves the bottle into Hashirama’s hands.

“What? You don't want to get your hands dirty?” Hashirama asks.

“If you don't shut up, I swear-”

“You swear what?” Hashirama nips Madara’s neck. “Hm?”

Madara’s breath hitches, his head tipping to the side in a silent demand, and Hashirama takes the victory.

Pushing Madara around is fun, and some of the best sex of Hashirama's life has come from annoying Madara so much that Madara is teetering on angry. But it's a delicate process and the neighbors tend to make pointed comments.

The bottle cap snapping open is loud despite the heavy sounds of their breathing.

“Finally.”

Hashirama lets the complaint go untouched in favor of upending the bottle, feeling a burst of pride in Madara for knowing that stashing it in his waistband would warm things up, and closing his hand around him.

Despite Madara's jibe, they probably did only have fifteen minutes downstairs, and when he factors in cleanup and the time it will take to disguise what they were doing, that time is going to disappear in a blink.

Madara yanks the bottle back out of Hashirama’s hand.

He mutters to himself, but Hashirama catches him saying “wasting time” and “more dick than brains”.

Madara’s hand is hot and slick, and when Hashirama kisses him, Madara’s free hand pulls Hashirama’s hair.

They've both been dealing with heavy workloads, and even though he knows better, Hashirama gives into the temptation to leave a hickey on Madara’s neck.

Madara doesn't complain.

He doesn't complain when Hashirama tilts his head and leaves a second hickey.

It's a rush, having Madara so turned on all he can do is hold onto Hashirama.

In the back of his mind, Hashirama reminds himself to find out what Madara likes so much about the kimono. Madara isn't good at being quiet or letting Hashirama do what he wants like this; whatever he likes so much he’ll play nice for it is worth knowing.

It can't be more than five minutes when Hashirama’s belly starts to burn and Madara’s voice gets tight.

They're both so close, and Hashirama is about to bite Madara's neck and make him come first when there's a sharp knock on the door.

They freeze.

Hashirama looks down.

Madara looks up.

There's a second sharp knock.

Drawing a deep breath through his nose, Hashirama asks, “What is it?”

His voice comes out remarkably steady.

Madara looks almost impressed.

“Our brothers are here,” Tobirama says through the door. “As are the rest of the Uchihas.”

The look Madara gives Hashirama is murderous.

Scrambling to salvage things, Hashirama calls, “Is that so? You should find him and let him know.”

There's a long beat of silence.

Madara's expression tightens.

“Brother,” Tobirama says, pained, “we both know where Madara is.”

Hashirama hisses as Madara punches his hip.

“Oh- there’s Madara!" Hashirama wheezes. "He was in the bathroom. I’m having some trouble with my kimono, but he can help me sort it out. We’ll be down in a minute.”

“So long as it's clean.”

“What was that?” Hashirama asks.

“So long as it's clean. You two aren't subtle” Tobirama sighs. “You're already late. Take the time to clean up thoroughly. I'll try to prevent my niece from accidentally breaking that boy.”

He walks away at a clip.

“I don't suppose you want to finish?” Hashirama asks.

“We already would have if you hadn't wasted time,” Madara hisses. “I'm going into the bathroom and washing up. You can get our clothes in order.”

Wincing, Hashirama steps back so Madara can storm off to the bathroom.

The walls shake with the force of Madara slamming the door.

Conflict is inevitable, Hashirama thinks. It's an inevitability with family.

He reaches for his clothes but pauses when he lifts his haori and finds himself staring at a distinctive red and white spot symbol on his kimono. 

Of course.

The one thing Madara would like more than Hashirama's family seeing Hashirama wearing Madara's clothes with his family's uchiwa would be seeing Hashirama wearing his own clothes with an uchiwa.

Smothering a smile, Hashirama hurries to make sure he has everything ready by the time Madara emerges. He doesn't mention the uchiwa and counts himself lucky that Madara barely sticks around to make sure Hashirama’s kimono and obi are put on properly.

“Not a word,” Madara warns him as they head back down the stairs.

Despite not knowing what he's not supposed to say a word about, Hashirama nods, and he must do a good job of keeping quiet because not half an hour after they finish taking photos, Madara takes him by the hand, pulls him aside, and makes a series of promises that make Hashirama’s face burn.

Then Madara saunters over to Izuna and Tobirama, who decided they get along after all.

Hashirama spends the rest of the party trying to get Tobirama to stop looking at him like a wet cat and dodging Mito and her knowing smile.

When the get-together ends and Hashirama is alone with his husband in the kitchen, he says, as innocently as he can, “I’m sorry about earlier.”

Madara doesn't look up from the dishes he's washing. “I'm sure you are.”

“It was hard to be quiet all day, you know.”

“Not as hard as I was when your brother interrupted,” Madara grumbles.

Hashirama bites his cheek and sidles up behind Madara. When he doesn't get pushed away, he curls his arms around Madara's waist.

“I had a thought about that. Let me make it up to you.”

“I’m tired, Hashirama. Make it up to me another time.”

“If you insist, but this is special.”

“What did I just-”

Hashirama presses their cheeks together. “I'd look good with an uchiwa, wouldn't I? I don't go to communal baths very often, and even if I did, it wouldn't have to be a big tattoo.” He pulls Madara closer. “Or it could be. We could put it somewhere people wouldn't want to say they saw it.”

Madara swallows. “Dick.”

“I was thinking my ass, but if you don't mind waiting for it to heal-”

Hashirama skitters away just in time to dodge Madara’s soapy hands.

Madara’s face is bright red as he whirls around, and Hashirama knows even before Madara opens his mouth that he's walking the fine line between teasing and pushing too far.

“Careful, Hashirama,” Madara warns. “I might hold you to that.”

“Why don't we make a wager?” Hashirama asks. “If you can get to our bedroom first, I'll get an uchiwa tattooed on my ass.”

“And if you win?”

“You have to come visit me at work every day for a month.”

Eyes narrowing, Madara tilts his head. “I only have one question.”

“What is it?”

“Which tattoo parlor do you want to show your ass at?”

Throwing the dish cloth at Hashirama, Madara takes off for the stairs.

It only delays Hashirama for a second, but he feels himself grin as he chases Madara through their house, dodging the things Madara knocks over as he sprints past.

When they reach the stairs, Madara steps on him at least twice before they get to the second floor.

Hashirama has Madara by the back of the shirt as they stumble up the top step. He's about to shove Madara down the hall the wrong way when he crashes into his brother.

Tobirama and the bag of garbage in his hand hit the floor in one direction; Hashirama hits the floor in the other.

“Tobi?" he asks, twisting to look over his shoulder. "What are you doing here?”

“I was helping clean up,” Tobirama says stiffly. He rubs his shoulder as he gets up. “Mito sent me to get you earlier, but I felt bad about interrupting your time with Madara. It occurred to me that helping you pick up might give you more time together.”

He glances at Madara, who's been inching his way closer to the bedroom.

Madara glares at him. “What?”

“It was nice of Tobirama to help,” Hashirama coaxes, sliding his knees under him. “Wasn't it?”

"Clearly, my good deed was unnecessary," Tobirama says. He keeps looking between Hashirama and the stairs.

Hashirama inches toward Madara. “But, Tobi-”

“Whatever you're doing, I want no part of it.”

Moment of generosity over, Tobirama steps around the trash bag, hops over Hashirama, and runs down the stairs.

Madara and Hashirama exchange looks.

“Pick the parlor, Hashirama!” Madara crows.

He lunges for the door, but Hashirama grabs his leg and pulls him down to the floor.

“You haven't won yet!”

Madara kicks Hashirama in the hip. "But I will!"

Hashirama hauls himself on top of Madara.

Madara can't hit what he can't reach.

From the ground floor, Tobirama shouts, “Brother! My phone fell out of my pocket. Please throw it down.”

“I'm busy!” Hashirama yells back, attempting to keep Madara from wiggling out from under him. "Can you come back later?"

"You know I can't."

Hashirama hesitates. If he lets go of Madara, Madara will escape. If he annoys Tobirama too much, Tobirama will be petty at work. 

“Are you clothed?” Tobirama asks.

“We aren't!” Madara shouts.

“I'll take that as a yes.”

The stairs creak as Tobirama, eyes fixed on the floor by his feet, sprints up them, grabs his phone, and dashes back downstairs.

He doesn't shut the front door gently.

“When I win,” Hashirama announces, “you're going to buy Tobirama a nice lunch.”

Madara wrenches himself free with a grunt, and Hashirama finds himself tumbling onto the floor a second time.

He makes a wild dive for Madara, but Madara is already out of reach and heaving himself gracelessly into their bedroom.

"Get ready to be disowned, Hashirama," he pants, beaming at Hashirama over his shoulder.

They spend the rest of the evening arguing about whether reaching the bedroom means getting to the doorway or passing through it. Madara is still accusing him of being a sore loser as they crawl under the covers together. In the interest of helping his husband better himself, Hashirama reminds Madara that he cheated.

Madara puts his cold feet on squarely Hashirama's shins, which Hashirama graciously pretends not to recognize as retaliation.

The links to tattoo parlors that Madara sends him at work the next morning come with suggestions on ways to accommodate the Uchihas' uchiwa being white.

Hashirama thanks him for his input and suggests that they get takeout for dinner.

Madara agrees and tells him not to be late.

The tattoo was a joke, something to put Hashirama back in Madara's good graces, but the longer Hashirama keeps the links open on his phone, the more sense the tattoo makes.

He closes the tabs and returns to work, but not until he bookmarks every site.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm [asotin](https://asotin.tumblr.com/) on tumblr if you want to say hi ^^


End file.
